Ambrosia Makes Her Clothes Fall Off
by LilStrawbaby
Summary: I can be bad, Lords, if I don't get caught. LL


Ambrosia Makes Her Clothes Fall Off

By: LittleStrawbaby

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: L/L

Spoilers: The Pegasus

A/N: 'Kay, I blatantly ripped off the title from the Joe Nichols song, but I just couldn't resist. Mucho thanks to Linna and TMRFrisky for the beta.

A little innocent flirting never hurt anyone. At least that's what she has been telling herself anyway, all these months—it's what she has to believe because she's on the wrong side of forty and he's young enough to be her son, and he's looking at her now as if he knows what her skin tastes like, a look she's sure is mirrored on her own face as they sit side by side on the sofa in her office, alone.

It is late and neither of them can sleep, so they're keeping each other company while sharing a bottle of the finest ambrosia Leonis ever produced—a bottle that Lee had lifted from Ellen Tigh's stash after another unsuccessful attempt to seduce the younger Adama. And they are nearing the bottom of the bottle.

"I love this stuff," Apollo says, setting his glass on the table. "What about you, Madame President?"

"I like it." She is smiling politely, but it is obvious she is holding something back.

"C'mon, just once, complain about the circumstances. Gripe about the lack of luxuries. Please, just for me."

"Really, Captain Apollo, it's fine."

"What is your preferred drink?"

"Whiskey. Neat," she answers playfully, a half-smile on her lips.

"I never pictured you as the hard-drinking type."

"What is it with you people? I did have a personal life."

"I didn't mean it that way. Though I did have this teacher in high school…Ms. Greene. Gods, she was gorgeous and lots of fun. We used to hang out with her on the weekends, and we partied hard."

"I guess that proves that teachers have lives too, that we enjoy a good time. But I never risked jail time for thrills."

"So, what did you do for fun?"

She smiles at his blatant curiosity, and a spark of excitement flares in her belly. She is thrilled that he is adept at this game; that he is as eager to play as she is, so she risks a confidence. "I got pretty wild after my father died. So I'm well-acquainted with alcohol and a few recreational substances."

Lee grins slowly and shakes his head. "I don't believe it."

"I can't exactly let it all hang out anymore, Captain Apollo." He hears a tone in her voice, a tone that bothers him, and sees a flash of sadness in her eyes.

"True. What would people think?" he teases, grinning boyishly at her.  
"Much worse than 'inept, ill-equipped school teacher,' I'm sure," she snorts, tossing back the contents of her glass.

"Or maybe they'd stand in line for days to party with the most powerful woman in the fleet."

"Wouldn't the press have a field day with that? I can see the headline now: 'President Roslin dances topless on her desk as _Galactica_ crew throws cubits.' Wouldn't that be fun for Billy to try and spin?" she giggles.

"Poor kid. He'd probably smother you in your sleep."

Lee laughs but his mind has zeroed in on the image her semi-nude, her eyes locked with his as she writhes on the table. He is having trouble reconciling his knowledge of her with the woman sitting next to him, allowing him a glimpse into her previous life. But the idea of her having a wild streak is extremely appealing to the tightly wound CAG and he is staring at her, his mouth open slightly, trying to see the woman she'd once been behind the politician polish.

"Captain Apollo? Still with me?"

"Yeah, sorry. I was, uh…"

"Imagining me topless?" she teases, bumping her shoulder against his.

He flushes slightly and Laura laughs, tossing her head back, the sound rich and throaty. He turns to face her, his gaze like a caress, and she feels a long-dormant part of her respond. She savors the idea that this man sees her as a woman, not as a surrogate for the mother who perished on Caprica. However, this thought also fills her with shame because she has no right to tease him, to claim him for herself; he should be searching for a woman his own age, a woman who can offer all of herself and receive the same gift from him—a woman who can offer him a future, not a few desperate, fleeting moments.

"Whatever you're thinking about, don't," he pleads, covering her hand with his. He sees the slight stiffening of her body, senses her second thoughts, and he isn't ready for the moment to fade.

Roslin smiles wryly and murmurs, "So much for my poker face."

"Don't lie to me, Madame President. You never have before."

"I'm not, Lee."

"Why are you pretending that you don't know what I'm talking about?"

"Because I want it too badly and I can't allow myself to hope for it," she whispers.

Her eyes are large, fear, longing, desire, all briefly crossing her lovely face and visible to him for a split-second before she successfully regains control. And it's not lost on him that she's using his given name for the first time, but she becomes unreadable to him all the same in these moments, when they're completely alone and the surge of electricity between them fairly crackles with intensity.

She is struggling with the instinct to flee the pulsating energy between them, when a single thought occurs to her: _Why_? She's not a priest, nor is she married and she certainly isn't dead yet. _I can be bad, Lords, if I don't get caught_, she thinks with a smirk. And since he's looking at her as if he wants to swallow her whole, it's fairly safe to assume this will remain between them—a wonderful, naughty secret. Her decision is made in a split-second and it is something she would have done twenty-five years ago, when she was carefree and her whole life was ahead of her, with all its possibilities.

He meets her halfway, their lips brushing together tentatively at first, then with more confidence and growing hunger. Without parting, they scoot closer together and Roslin wraps her arms around his neck as his hands settle on the small of her back, his fingers massaging lightly.

They break for air, his lips finding her throat as her fingers sink into his hair and she moans, "Lee…"

"Gods, you're beautiful, Laura."

"Make love to me."

"An advisor should attend to his President in all ways," he whispers against her lips.

"For your sake, that had better mean yes," Roslin growls, gripping the front of his jacket, her eyes narrowing.

He answers her with a heated kiss, slipping her blouse from her skirt, his fingers stroking upwards toward her full breasts. She grins against his lips with self-satisfaction—she's so going to enjoy this. After a long moment, he pulls away slightly, and asks hopefully, "Is there any possibility of a demonstration of your table dance?"

"I've been ordered to the Pegasus," he whispers in her hair, idly stroking the sweat-dampened flesh along her spine.

"I know," she answers mournfully.

"It's going to make this," he gestures between them, "harder."

Roslin pushes herself onto her elbow, quirking an eyebrow. "I am the President. You are my military advisor. I dare her to try and interfere with that."

"Ooh, I love it when you get all feisty."

"Do you?"

"Oh yeah. Makes me feel warm and tingly all over."

Laura chuckles throatily and straddles Apollo's abdomen, smiling down at him, reminding him of a predator who's cornered its prey—and he knows she has only begun to toy with him. She bends forward, her lips brushing his ear as she murmurs huskily, "Would you be interested in sharing some of that tingling warmth?"

_Oh my Gods, she's going to eat me alive,_ he thinks as her mouth covers his.

The End


End file.
